


To Be Worthy of Any Rank

by imaginary_golux



Series: Dare Mighty Things [2]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Finn and Rey Join the Resistance, Fix-It of Sorts, Force-Sensitive Finn, Force-Sensitive Poe Dameron, Luke Skywalker Is Not A Grumpy Hermit, M/M, Master & Padawan Relationship(s), Mutual Pining, Padawans, Pining, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2019-03-05 07:12:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13382790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginary_golux/pseuds/imaginary_golux
Summary: Finn has followed Commander Dameron to the Resistance, and it's nothing like he expected. He's not thrown immediately into an interrogation chamber; General Leia Organa does not incinerate him with her glare; and he's supposed to call Commander Dameron 'Poe'.And that is not the end of the surprises.Poe is glad to be back with the Resistance, to shuck the costume of a First Order officer forever, to have brought out all of his TIE pilots and bright, brave,beautifulFinn with his brilliant mind, to have rescued Rey and found the map to Skywalker. He thinks he'll be settling easily back into his role as the leader of the Resistance's fighter pilots.There are some surprises in store for him, too.Beta by my very patient Best Beloved, Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw.





	1. Chapter 1

Finn expects to be led immediately to an interrogation room. That is, after all, the _gentlest_ way the First Order would treat someone claiming to be a defector - is almost certainly the way they welcomed Commander Dameron, and how in the _galaxy_ did he manage to convince his interrogators he was sincere, when he was clearly planning this the whole time?

But instead, General Organa - _the_ General Organa, the destroyer of the Empire, the woman every Stormtrooper is taught to fear and hate from _infancy_ \- looks the defectors over, and smiles, and says, “It is my pleasure to welcome you all to the Resistance.”

Finn glances over at the TIE pilots, who look nearly as dumbfounded as he feels. Commander Dameron laughs and claps Finn on the shoulder. “Come along, you lot,” he says cheerfully. “Let’s get you fed and find bunks for you.”

The girl - Rey - falls in next to Finn as they all follow Commander Dameron into the Resistance base. She’s got a death-grip on her staff, but she’s also looking around curiously at the people they pass, the architecture of the hidden base. Finn is equally enthralled by the people, actually. Only about half of them are wearing anything he recognizes as a _uniform_ ; the rest, like the terrifying General Organa, are wearing civilian clothing. They don’t move like the people Finn is used to, either. In the First Order, everyone moves in straight lines, perfect marching steps, even the officers - no one meanders, no one wanders, no one slouches against walls to talk with friends. But here, though everyone does look _busy_ , no one is marching in lockstep pairs, no one is saluting senior officers as they pass. They _bustle_ , instead, but while they do, they chatter or laugh or pause to gesture eagerly, they clap each other on the shoulder or slap their hands to their forehead and turn about in sudden remembrance or wave eagerly across the way to some acquaintance or another.

And then Commander Dameron leads his little troop of baffled TIE pilots, defecting Stormtrooper, and Jakku scavenger into a wide hall half-full of people, and every one of the First Order defectors stops dead at the _screech_ that rises from a nearby table. Rey tenses and goes into what Finn recognizes as a stance that will let her fight or flee as the occasion demands.

“Dameron, you magnificent _bastard_!” someone yells, and a woman in an orange flight suit launches herself across the room and seizes Commander Dameron in an almost violent embrace. Moments later, half a dozen other people in equally bright clothing join the chaos, flinging their arms about Commander Dameron and each other and yelling in what Finn parses, after a moment’s blank confusion, as overwhelming joy.

“Stars and _planets_ , Dameron, you actually pulled it _off_!” one of the crowd shouts, loudly enough for Finn to hear over the cheering, and then pries himself out of the hugging chaos and turns to Finn and Rey and the TIE pilots, holding out a hand. “I’m Snap Wexley, and it’s a pleasure to meet you all,” he says cheerfully. He’s a big man, larger than Poe or Finn, with broad shoulders and a beard that makes Finn do a double-take - no one in the First Order wears a beard.

Finn glances over at the TIE pilots, who are almost uniformly near-shaking with confused terror, and then at Rey, who has both hands wrapped so tightly around the grip of her staff that her knuckles are white, and takes a deep breath, and steps forward, holding out his own hand in imitation of Wexley’s gesture. “I’m Finn,” he says, and Wexley grabs his hand and shakes it up and down vigorously, beaming.

“Finn, huh?” Wexley nods firmly, as if imprinting the name on his memory. “Well, how about you and your buddies come and get some food while Dameron’s busy with his adoring fans, hey? He’ll be a while. We’ve missed him sorely.”

“...Yes, sir,” Finn says after a moment’s bafflement. It’s almost always a safe response in the First Order.

“We don’t stand on ceremony here,” Wexley says, leading the way around the crowd of joyful people towards a long counter set with serving dishes. “Just call me Snap, everyone does.”

Finn’s brain helpfully provides him with an image of General Hux saying amiably to a new recruit, “Oh, just call me Armitage,” and he has to bite his own lip savagely to stifle a nearly hysterical laugh. Wexley doesn’t notice, thank goodness, but stops at one end of the long counter and gestures grandly at the platters of food. “Help yourselves!”

Rey says, in the tones of one who has just been offered her heart’s desire, “We can eat _any_ of it?”

“Anything you like, as much as you like,” Wexley tells her kindly. “We may not be the wealthiest bastards in the galaxy, but we eat pretty well.” He picks up a fruit from a basket full of them and offers it to her with a wink. “Here, this’s my favorite.”

Rey takes it with a shaking hand and bites into it immediately, and her eyes flutter closed as she chews. “It’s _wonderful_ ,” she says once she’s swallowed that bite, paying no attention to the juice staining her cheeks and chin.

“Well, more where that came from,” Wexley says, and hands Finn a tray, then turns to hand more trays to the clump of baffled TIE pilots who have apparently decided to follow Finn about like terrified cadets clinging to their lieutenant on their first deployment out of the training halls.

Finn decides to take a little bit of everything, because he can’t identify _any_ of it - none of it looks like protein bars, which is what Stormtroopers eat for every meal - and the TIE pilots follow him down the counter, imitating him carefully. Apparently they’ve decided he’ll do as an officer, for some reason. Rey takes most of the basket of fruit and a large piece of bread, and retreats to a nearly-empty table in the corner where she takes a seat with her back against the wall and hunches over her plate, eyeing the people nearest her as though she’s worried about having the food taken away. Finn decides to sit down at the next table over, which immediately fills up with the TIE pilots. Wexley, one of the last remaining pieces of fruit in his hands, takes the seat across from Finn and smiles down the table.

“So, tell me your names,” he invites. The TIE pilots eye each other nervously for a moment, and then the one closest to Finn - the ranking one, Finn would guess - says, “I’m Flips, sir. These are my squadron: Sauce and Deadshot and Reckless and Boots and Foureyes and Cloudy and Crash and Ellie and Spinout and Rath.” Each TIE pilot salutes as their name is called, and Wexley nods to each in turn.

“Pleased to meet all of you,” he says genially. “No need to salute, by the way - even the General doesn’t insist on it. We’re very casual here, most of the time.” He grins. “Which I suspect is going to be a little bit of a shock for all of you, but I assure you, we’re glad to have you, and we won’t give you too much bantha-crap about any little First Order habits you have trouble getting rid of.”

“Thank you...Snap,” Flips says slowly. She’s a tall woman with slate-grey skin and green eyes, and her hair is shaved down to the skin, so Finn can’t tell what color it might be. She’d look quite imposing except for the expression of barely controlled panic on her face.

“Eat up,” Wexley says, smiling at her. “And then we’ll go dig Dameron out of that heap and see what he wants you to do next.”

*

Poe manages to extract himself from the dogpile only after hugging all of his friends at least twice and letting Kare tousle his hair vigorously and Iolo cry on his shoulder a little. He heads straight for the table full of his TIE pilots - and Finn - detouring to nod politely to Rey and send her a smile, but not encroaching on her space. It doesn’t require being good at body language to know that she is _not_ interested in company.

He claps Finn on the shoulder and sits down next to Snap, beaming at all of them. “How’s the food, buddies?”

“ _Amazing_ ,” Finn breathes. He’s mostly cleaned his plate already, and is using a piece of bread to sop up some leftover sauce. “Is this how people outside the First Order eat all the time, sir?”

Poe winces a little. “Well, first, this is cafeteria food, so most people outside the First Order eat _better_ than this, and first chance I get I’m making my grandfather’s famous vegetable stew for all of you,” he says, and watches Finn’s eyes go wide. Flips licks her lips unconsciously. “And second - this goes for all of you - you _do not_ have to call me sir. Call me Poe, if you can. Dameron, if that’s too much.”

He watches Finn and the TIE pilots all glance at each other in confusion and more than a little distress; they’re interrupted by Rey sitting down beside Finn and holding her hand out across the table. “I’m Rey,” she says.

“Pleasure to meet you, Rey. I’m Poe,” Poe replies, and shakes her hand. “Enjoy the meal?”

“Yes,” Rey says firmly. “I never got fruit on Jakku.”

“Glad to hear you liked it,” Poe says, smiling at her. “So, once you’re all done eating, we’ll go find you rooms, and then Finn and Flips, we’ve got a meeting with the General and her staff.”

Finn and Flips exchange a glance which is clearly apprehensive, but Finn obediently eats his last piece of bread and pushes back from the table. “We’re ready, si - Poe.”

Poe beams at him and stands. The TIE pilots form ranks behind Finn - apparently they’ve decided he’s the closest they’ve got to a ranking officer, which is kind of amusing, actually - and Rey takes a position beside Finn, watching everyone around her warily. Snap falls in beside Poe as he leads the way out of the mess hall.

“So they seem like good kids,” he says quietly, voice pitched not to carry past Poe’s ears.

Flips and Crash and Rath are nearly as old as Poe is, but Poe nods. They’re so oddly naive in some ways that they _do_ seem younger than their years. “They are,” he agrees. “Think Rapier Squadron will be okay taking them in?”

Snap considers this. It’s one of the things Poe likes about his old friend, that when he _does_ have time to think things through, he takes it. “There might be a little friction at first,” he says at last, “but _I_ like them, and I think Jess and Kare will take to them pretty well, so - I think we can make it work, yeah. Especially if they’ll show us how to fly the TIEs. You’re not the only one who’s always wanted to try them out, you know.”

“Good,” Poe says, grinning.

The Resistance is always understaffed, so there are easily fifteen empty rooms in the pilots’ wing. Poe stops at his own door - he has a double room all to himself, as befits his lofty rank - and turns to face his ducklings.

“Do you prefer rooming alone, or with someone?” he asks.

There’s a brief pause while they all look at each other in confusion. Rey steps forward. “ _Alone_ ,” she says, the word as solid as if it’s been set in stone, and Poe nods to her and gestures to the single across the hall from his.

“Then this can be yours,” he says. “The door locks, by the way - Snap, can you help her get that set up?”

“Sure thing,” Snap says amiably, and Rey steps across the hall, keeping a wary distance between herself and Snap, and pays close attention while he walks her through setting the biometric lock. Then she opens the door and stops dead in the doorway, gaping, before whirling to stare at Poe.

“This is all _mine_?” she asks incredulously.

“All yours,” Poe says, nodding. “Make yourself at home.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Rey breathes, and vanishes into the room, the door sliding shut behind her.

“Right,” Poe says to his TIE pilots. “Anyone else got a preference?”

After a few moments of mild confusion, the TIE pilots are all installed in bunkrooms. Poe sort of suspected that most of them would prefer not to bunk alone - the First Order isn’t big on private rooms for anyone below the rank of Commander - and his suspicions are borne out. Flips and Rath end up together, and Sauce and Boots, and Deadshot and Foureyes, and Spinout and Crash - three guesses as to why _they’re_ friends - and Cloudy and Ellie and Reckless agree to bunk together, giving surreptitious looks to Poe that suggest they think he hasn’t already figured out they’re a triad.

That leaves Finn looking sort of bereft in the middle of the corridor, and Poe looks at him for a _long_ moment and then sighs.

“You don’t really want to bunk alone, do you,” he says.

Finn gives him some of the best pleading eyes Poe’s ever seen, apparently entirely by accident. “No,” he admits quietly.

Poe sighs, and scrubs a hand over his forehead, and says, “There’s a spare bunk in my room. If you want it.” And then he ignores Snap’s incredulous stare _magnificently_ , thank you very much. Just because he’s been very protective of his space for as long as Snap’s known him - well, but this is different. This is _Finn_.

“Thank you,” Finn says, smiling, and Poe shrugs and opens his door. Finn glances around the room and makes a beeline for the empty bunk, stripping off his armor as he goes and leaving it in a neat pile at the foot of the bed. He’s smiling when he turns to see Poe’s quizzical look.

“It’s actually _really_ uncomfortable,” he tells Poe, still beaming. “And if I’m - if I’m with the Resistance now, I don’t have to wear it - right?” The smile turns into a worried look, and Poe claps Finn on the shoulder reassuringly.

“Right, buddy,” he says cheerfully. “You never have to wear it again, if you don’t want to.”

Finn relaxes. “Oh good,” he says quietly. “Because I don’t. I never want to be a Stormtrooper again.”

“You never have to be, buddy,” Poe says, meeting Finn’s eyes and trying to put every ounce of sincerity he’s feeling into his tone. “Never again. You’re not a Stormtrooper anymore.”

“Good,” Finn says, starting to smile again. It’s like the sun rising, that smile, and it hits Poe right in the chest, makes his heart beat faster and his breath come short.

He’s honestly grateful when Snap says, “So, when was that meeting again?” because otherwise he might have done something _really_ foolish, like kissing that glorious smile.

Meeting. Yes. That is what he needs to do.

*

Finn is not sure what to expect from a meeting with the terrifying General Organa and her staff. He’s never actually _been_ to a meeting before, after all - Stormtroopers don’t have meetings, they have assemblies where they’re told what to do and sent off to do it. Given that Commander Dameron - that _Poe_ \- seems to be sure that no harm will come to Finn or Rey or the TIE pilots, Finn assumes he won’t be strapped to an interrogation chair and asked questions until he snaps or dies, but other than that - he’s at a loss.

The crowded, well-lit room with a broad table and a dozen chairs is very nearly anticlimactic. Poe sits down in one of the chairs, gesturing for Finn and Flips to take the ones on either side of him, and then gets up again almost immediately to greet the little orange-and-white droid that comes rolling into the room burbling. Poe installs the droid by his feet when he sits down again, and keeps reaching down to pat it on the dome, seeming very glad to have it nearby.

Finn’s never met a droid besides the docdroids - which are terrifying - and one interrogation droid - which was far worse. He scootches his chair back from the table so he can lean down to see this one. It doesn’t _seem_ dangerous.

“Hullo,” he says to it, and it rolls closer to him and turns its dome to look him up and down. “I’m Finn.”

It burbles something that certainly _sounds_ friendly. “This is BB-8,” Poe says, voice warm and fond. “He’s my very oldest friend, and he was my contact while I was undercover.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Finn says, remembering what Snap said earlier, and holds out his hand. The droid extends a little pincer-hand and takes his, shaking it gently up and down and burbling a reply.

“BB-8 says he’s pleased to meet you, too,” Poe translates.

The door opens again, and Finn straightens, just barely avoiding banging his head on the table, to see the terrifying General Organa and half a dozen other people he recognizes from the official Enemy List. He gulps, suddenly _vastly_ less certain that this is not going to involve him being strapped to an interrogation chair. But General Organa and her companions just sit down, choosing places around the table without apparent jostling for position, and then General Organa leans forward, hands folded over her datapad, and says, “So, Commander Dameron. I think you have a report for me?”

“Quite a long one,” Poe says cheerfully. “But I think I should open with the two most important parts. First,” he pulls a little object out of his pocket and pushes it across the table to the General, “this is - as far as I know - the map to Luke Skywalker.”

General Organa picks it up and tucks it away in a pocket. “Thank you,” she says quietly, looking very sad for a moment. “And the second thing?”

Poe grimaces. “So, I’m sure everyone remembers the Death Star,” he says grimly.

General Organa and several of the other officers wince. “Yes,” General Organa says. “Viscerally.”

“Well, apparently General Armitage Hux, in his _infinite_ wisdom,” Finn has rarely heard such venom in anyone’s voice, and is rather startled to hear it from Poe, who has never been anything but kind, “has decided the Death Star was not quite big enough.” He taps his datapad a few times and then pushes it into the middle the table, where it projects an image that Finn, somewhat to his surprise, recognizes immediately.

“Starkiller,” he says, and General Organa turns to look straight at him. Finn flinches a little.

“Starkiller?” she asks.

“It’s...it’s a planet, ma’am,” Finn says, gulping down his panic. “It draws on the power of the local sun to produce bolts capable of destroying other stars. Or - or that’s what they told us.”

“That’s what they told _us_ , too, and I’ve seen the specs,” Poe says, nodding approvingly at Finn. “As far as I can tell, it’ll do exactly what that rat bastard Hux _thinks_ it will. And it’s complete.”

“Well shit,” says an officer Finn recognizes from the Enemy List as General Statura.

General Organa rubs a hand over her face and sighs deeply. “Lovely,” she says bitterly. “And naturally _this_ iteration won’t have a convenient exhaust port that’ll blow the whole damn thing up.”

Finn gulps again. “Um,” he says, and all eyes swivel to him. He sinks down in his seat a little. Poe reaches over under the table to take his hand, and Finn takes a deep breath, draws strength from Poe’s warm fingers. “Actually,” he says, as clearly as he can, “there’s the oscillator.”

Poe leans forward and taps at the datapad with his free hand; the hologram spins a little, and zooms in on the oscillator where it looms above the snowy plains.

“If that - if that blew up, the rest of the planet would go, too,” Finn says. “They were always _very_ strict about the miners being anywhere near the oscillator, or even if we had any cleaning materials that could be combined into explosives.” He grimaces. “But it’s _really_ well shielded - the whole planet, I mean. And only authorized ships are allowed to approach.”

“Only authorized ships, huh…” Poe says thoughtfully. “I wonder…”


	2. Chapter 2

Finn is pretty sure this is the most reckless thing he has _ever_ done, and that includes rescuing Rey and fleeing the First Order. He’s sitting in the gunner’s seat of Poe’s TIE fighter again, with the rest of the TIE fighters behind them, a Resistance pilot in each one, and they’re not under any sort of stealth at all as they approach Starkiller Base.

“Commander Dameron to Starkiller Command, over,” Poe snaps into the comm once they’re close enough. His voice is clipped and cold, a perfect First Order officer’s tones, and it makes Finn shiver to hear it.

“Authorization code required, over,” comes the reply.

Poe rattles out the authorization code he was given on the _Finalizer_ , and Finn holds his breath. If General Hux has sent word that Poe is a traitor, this could become a disaster in a very few moments -

“Authorization accepted, Commander Dameron. What is the reason for your unscheduled arrival? Over.”

“General Hux sent me,” Poe says. “We received word that a group of Resistance fighters were going to attempt to attack Starkiller. General Hux thought a transmission might be intercepted, so I have the data with me. Over.”

Finn honestly can’t believe how _insane_ this plan is. Getting a group of Resistance fighters inside Starkiller’s shields by _telling the Starkiller commanders that a group of Resistance fighters is going to attack_? There are so many ways this can go so very, very wrong.

“Follow flight path QH17 to the landing fields, Commander Dameron,” the comm says after a moment. “You will be met at the field. Over.”

And that, too, is part of the plan. QH17 goes right over the oscillator, and is the most obvious flight plan given the angle the TIE fighters used to approach. Finn shakes his head a little and scans the buttons in front of him one more time: missiles, mag pulse, cannons. He can do this.

They follow the flight path obediently, twelve TIE fighters like beads on a string, until they are very nearly _past_ the long open-topped tunnel that leads to the oscillator’s entrance. And then Poe spins the TIE fighter in midair, sending it swooping down into the trench, the other eleven TIE fighters imitating him with beautiful precision.

To Finn’s blank astonishment, they actually _reach the oscillator_ before the comm starts squawking again. “Commander Dameron!” the comm officer yelps. “What are you _doing_?”

Poe turns the comm off with a quick flick of his fingers and calls over the sound of the engines, “See any weak spots?”

“The doors maybe?” Finn calls back, and suits actions to words, sending a missile straight for the tightly-closed doors of the oscillator. Apparently every other pilot - and the gunner in the other two-seater TIE - is watching closely, because right behind Finn’s missile comes a positive _rain_ of more. The doors shudder, shake, and break apart, and Poe takes the TIE fighter right into the resulting gap.

The oscillator is more than large enough for a single TIE fighter to make a loop, if the pilot is good enough, and Poe is more than good enough. Finn just keeps shooting at anything that looks even vaguely useful - pillars, command stations, banks of incomprehensible machinery - and reveling in the endless shudder of explosions around them. It’s oddly satisfying, watching this symbol of the First Order’s supremacy go up in flames.

The secondary comm in its makeshift mount next to Poe’s chair crackles, and Snap’s voice says, “Hey, we’ve got a shitload of company - time to get out, Poe!”

Poe chuckles, and Finn boggles a little with the corner of his mind that isn’t busy with target-aim-fire-repeat. How can Poe laugh at a time like this?

“I think we’ve caused enough chaos,” he says, as part of the roof falls in. The secondary explosions from Finn’s missiles are starting to spread more rapidly than he can track, and even as he watches, one entire bank of complicated machinery blows itself up in a cascade of sparks and a rain of tiny mechanical parts, all glowing red-hot. “Shall we be on our merry way?”

Finn finds himself laughing, too. “Yes, sir!” he calls back, and Poe takes them swooping out through the sheet of fire over the blasted doorway, into a firefight so confusing that Finn actually takes his hands off the firing controls for a moment. He can’t tell which TIE fighters are loyal to the First Order and which ones are Poe’s squadron, and he doesn’t dare fire blindly.

“Rapier Squadron, break west,” Poe snaps into his secondary comm, and eleven TIE fighters immediately turn to the west and start streaking away from their attackers. Finn grins and locks his targeting controls on one of the remaining TIEs as it turns to pursue, blows it out of the sky with a single shot. Poe whoops with glee. “ _Beautiful_ shot,” he calls to Finn, and Finn grins so hard it hurts his cheeks and targets another First Order TIE - another _enemy_ TIE - and the world narrows again to target-aim-fire, to what he has been trained for all his life, but somehow so different when it’s with Poe.

*

Poe lands his TIE fighter on the tarmac at D’Qar base for the second time in three days, feeling utterly wrung out and grinning like a madman. The rest of the Rapier Squadron pilots come tumbling out of their TIEs as Poe and Finn unstrap themselves, and Poe steps out into the middle of a group hug. Snap reels Finn in, too, when the ex-Stormtrooper hesitates in the open hatch of the TIE, and Poe spares a moment to worry that the exuberance of his pilots might be a little overwhelming for Finn, then sees Finn pounding Muran on the back and whooping with the best of them, and lets that worry fall away.

Poe finally pulls himself away from the gleeful knot of people when he sees General Organa waiting, a faint smile on her lips; he pulls himself to some sort of attention and salutes her, though he knows the broad grin on his face is not precisely regulation. “One enormous superweapon destroyed, ma’am!” he says joyfully, still high on adrenaline and victory.

“Well done, Dameron,” she says warmly. “Well done to _all_ of you.”

And that’s a warm glow in Poe’s chest as he sees to getting his pilots fed and herding them off to bed to sleep off the stim-tabs and the hot glee of combat, and crashes face-first into his _own_ bed without even bothering to take his flight suit off.

When he wakes, the room is dim, and at first he assumes BB-8 must have turned the lights off, until he rolls over to face the rest of the room and sees that the bed across the way is occupied, and remembers, sharp as a shock, that he said Finn could share his room.

That beautiful, dangerous, defiant, _glorious_ Finn is asleep barely three feet away.

Poe is abruptly grateful for the heavy fabric of the flight suit, for the fact that even if Finn was awake and _looking_ he almost certainly wouldn’t be able to tell whether Poe was aroused or not. And he is neither awake nor looking; he’s flat on his back, hands neatly on his chest, snoring very softly in an easy rhythm. Just the way he slept in Poe’s bed, on the _Finalizer_.

Poe knows Finn is warm, radiates heat better than some actual _heaters_ do. He knows Finn sleeps quietly, no thrashing or constant turning over to disturb a bed partner. He knows the clasp of Finn’s hand on his arm, firm and gentle and strong.

He knows Finn _offered_ , once. That Finn thought that what Poe might want of him could very well end with Finn _dead_ , and offered anyway. But that was on the _Finalizer_ , that was when Finn was a Stormtrooper and his life was - according to his officers, according to everything he had ever been taught - worth nothing. That was when Finn did not have _hope_. But now he is here, now he is with the Resistance, and it is Poe’s fervent hope that Finn will never again feel that his own life is worth less than some fool’s vile desires. Which means that that offer - that offer which Poe turned down the instant it was made, and would again, in the same circumstances, because doing anything else would make Poe as vile as his enemies - that offer is null and void, as though it never happened.

Finn is Poe’s roommate, and his newest comrade in the Resistance, and, if the galaxy is kind, perhaps even Poe’s friend. And that is _all_ , and Poe’s kriffing well lucky to have it.

*

“I hear,” General Organa says, “that you are an exceptional tactician, Finn.”

Finn gulps and stands up from his seat in the mess hall, coming to attention and stifling the urge to salute. “I - try, ma’am?” he says, hoping desperately it’s the right answer.

“Then it’s about time you learned strategy, too,” she says briskly, and beckons him to follow her. Finn falls in just behind her shoulder, where a bodyguard would be in the First Order - he has seen Stormtroopers at officers’ shoulders, before, has been trained in the proper distance to keep, the proper way to stay close without looming or treading on the officer’s heels. “And I’ll want you close in case I have questions,” General Organa adds. “But pay attention - and if you have an idea, or a useful observation, let me know.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Finn says, trying not to sound as terrified as he is. This doesn’t sound like he’s to be General Organa’s _bodyguard_ \- petrifying as that would be all on its own - but more that he’s to be her _aide_. And that - that is a rank no Stormtrooper dares aspire to, that is a position for _officers_ , and moreover - this is General Organa, the Empire-killer, Hutt-Slayer, who dares to stand against the might of the First Order. Finn’s pretty sure if she ever so much as frowns at him, he’ll probably faint with terror on the spot.

It’s a little odd that such an imposing woman is so very _small_ , though. She’s easily a head shorter than Finn is, though she carries herself like she doesn’t realize it, and she has startlingly long strides for her height - Finn has to stretch his own legs to keep up.

She leads him straight to the main command center, where half a dozen of her highest-ranked subordinates are waiting. Finn tries to keep his shoulders back and his face impassive as they all give him incredulous looks - except Poe, who grins and winks at Finn.

“Are you _sure_ about this?” General Statura asks General Organa. “He’s a _Stormtrooper_. For all we know, he’s a plant.”

“He _was_ a Stormtrooper,” General Organa says, tone mild, but Finn can hear the durasteel beneath the soft words. “I trust Commander Dameron’s judgement, and my own assessment of Finn is that he is as loyal to the Resistance as I could ask.”

General Statura frowns, but he also shrugs and turns back to the holographic map hovering above the briefing table. “If you’re sure,” he says.

“I am,” General Organa says, and steps into the place that has been left open for her. “Now then, gentlepeople. As I see it, we have two main objectives at the moment. The first, of course, is to capitalize on our recent victory at Starkiller.” She flicks a finger at the hologram, and one of the red-glowing First Order icons winks out. There are still far too many red dots for Finn’s liking, though, spread out in a wide arc that seems to be reaching for the island of green which must be the decadent Republic.

Finn should probably stop thinking of it as the “ _decadent_ ” Republic, come to think of it.

“I will want reports on our current resources in a moment,” General Organa says, and taps the control panel in front of her, turning off the map. “But first, our other priority.” She slips a small data chip out of her pocket and slides it into the table’s projector; another map rises above the table. “This is the map Commander Dameron won for us, at great personal risk. Unfortunately, as you can see, it is not complete.”

Finn blinks up at the hologram. It shows a route through a field of stars, clearly a set of hyperspace directions, but Finn has never actually been trained to read star maps. It’s not the sort of skill Stormtroopers are expected to need. He certainly doesn’t recognize any of the star designations.

“Any thoughts?” General Organa asks her officers. Poe grimaces.

“I hate to say it, ma’am, but I don’t recognize this area of the galaxy,” he says.

“Probably Outer Rim,” one of the other officers says thoughtfully. “Klono only knows what all’s out there, and our maps do tend to be a little sparse that far out.”

General Organa sighs, and extracts the data chip again, tucking it away in her pocket carefully. “I was afraid you’d say that,” she says wearily. “Well, if you think of anything, do let me know. In the meantime -” she pulls the map of the war up again, “we have twelve more fighters and sufficient pilots for all of them, and this morning Kor Sella got a message to me that the Senate has voted to allot us half again our previous grant. So. Talk to me.”

Poe clears his throat. “So as of my - ah - rather precipitous departure from their ranks,” he says, to a wave of soft chuckles from around the table, “the First Order’s ship allocations were like this…”

*

Poe is just finishing his dinner after what has to be one of the longest - albeit most productive - meetings of his career, when Rey sits down across from him, frowning like a stormcloud.

“What do I do here?” she asks, without any preamble.

Poe blinks, finishes chewing, and gives her a long look. “Well,” he says at last, figuring that she probably will appreciate bluntness, “what are you good at?”

“I can take spaceships apart,” Rey says, shrugging. “I can fix things. I can _probably_ fly almost any ship you have. I can fight.” She thinks a moment. “And I speak eight languages.”

Poe can feel his eyebrows going up. “Now that,” he says, “is an impressive catalog of skills. Alright. We can _always_ use mechanics, and our mechanics do end up as pilots fairly often. Let’s get you started there, shall we? Ever fixed an X-Wing before?”

“No,” Rey says, shrugging. “Mostly droids. But I can do it.”

“Alright,” Poe says, and gets up to put his tray away. Then a thought strikes him. “You can fix droids, huh?”

“Yeah,” Rey says. She’s got her quarterstaff slung over her shoulder instead of gripped in one hand, which Poe suspects is a good sign - she’s starting to relax, at least a little.

“We’ve got one on base that’s been shut down for nearly a decade,” Poe says, leading the way out of the mess hall. “If you can get it running again, we’d all be grateful.”

“Why’s it so important?” Rey asks, frowning. “Most people won’t keep a dead droid around. They get scrapped for parts.”

“It’s R2-D2,” Poe says, and is going to explain, but Rey gasps, eyes going wide.

“The astromech?” she asks, excitedly.

“...Yes,” Poe says, blinking at her. “You know of it?”

“It’s famous - I mean, among droids,” Rey says, shrugging. “I talked to the astromechs on the ships that came to Niima, when I could. They had stories about R2-D2, sometimes. Said it was a hero.”

“Well, so it was,” Poe agrees. “General Leia got it from her brother, before he vanished. It’s in here.” He leads her into the darkened command room and over to the corner where R2-D2 rests, half-hidden behind a pile of odds and ends. Poe clears a little space, and Rey folds down to sit on the floor in front of the droid, frowning in concentration.

“I’ll need some tools,” she says after a few moments of study. Poe beckons to BB-8, who is hovering in the doorway, and the little droid rolls over.

“BB will help you - he’s got everything I ever use, at any rate, and he knows where everything else is,” Poe says, and BB-8 beeps cheerfully.

“Thank you, BB-8,” Rey says solemnly. “Now, I need to get this panel open - do you have - ah, yes, perfect,” she adds, as BB-8 pops open one of his storage compartments to display Poe’s stash of small tools.

“I’ll just leave you to it,” Poe says, grinning, and heads for the hangar. Theoretically, he’s supposed to be running a joint exercise between the X-Wing pilots and the TIE pilots, which should be fascinating and has only a _little_ potential for disastrous explosions.

*

“I must admit,” General Organa says, leaning back in her chair and giving Finn a worryingly speculative look, “that I am not entirely used to causing the sort of apprehension that you and my new TIE pilots display.”

Finn gulps.

“I’m not actually an ogre,” General Organa adds gently. “If I’m doing something to cause you such distress, I would like to know about it.”

Finn takes a deep breath, reminds himself that Poe trusts this woman implicitly and therefore she _can’t_ be as bad as the First Order propaganda claims she is, and says, warily, “We were taught, ma’am, to be terrified of you. The - the officers called you the Empire-killer, usually, and all the teaching films talked about how you had destroyed the Empire pretty much single-handedly, and were coming for the First Order next.”

General Organa chuckles. It’s a surprisingly warm, friendly sound. “Single-handedly, huh?” she says cheerfully. “Well. That’s a little different to how _I_ remember it. They’ve made me out to be the monster under the bed, have they?”

Finn blinks in confusion. General Organa shakes her head and grins. “Darksiders,” she says, with a sort of bitter amusement. “Fear leads to anger, anger leads to hatred, that whole stupid mantra. Well, I know you haven’t much reason to believe me, but I promise you I’m not going to have you tortured, or whatever horrid things you’re imagining. Do pass the word along to the TIE pilots, will you? It’s a little worrying to have them twitch every time they see me.”

Finn nods. “I - I do have a reason to believe you, ma’am,” he says diffidently. General Organa raises an eyebrow in silent query. “Poe trusts you,” Finn says simply. “And I trust Poe.”

General Organa smiles, a soft warm expression that makes her look _much_ less terrifying. “Good instincts, young man,” she says quietly. “Poe Dameron is a good man.” She stands, and reaches up to clap Finn gently on the shoulder. “And so, I suspect, are you.”

*

Poe comes into the command center quietly, not wanting to disturb Rey if she’s buried in her work. The joint exercise went _astonishingly_ well, and he’s still bouncing from the glee of seeing all of his pilots working together, and from the hopefully-pardonable pride in having _still_ been the pilot with the highest marksmanship scores, despite the greater maneuverability of the TIE fighters. Poe Dameron, best fighter pilot in the galaxy, accept no substitutes.

Snap and Pava will probably do their best to deflate his big head over lunch, anyway, so Poe rather thinks a few minutes of private gloating are a pardonable offense.

Rey is sitting cross-legged in front of R2-D2, one of the droid’s panels lying beside her, squinting into the depths of its circuitry while BB-8 shines a light to help her. She’s talking, quietly, to both of them, and Poe pauses in the doorway to listen.

“...not so much a _damage_ issue as an overload one,” she says to the droids. BB-8 burbles curiously. “Well, he’s an older model, isn’t he, not like you - you’ve got _all_ the newest upgrades, haven’t you, little one - and he’s storing about eight times as much data as he’s got capacity to sort through. Like trying to put the Library of Coruscant onto _your_ memory banks.”

Poe is blankly astonished at the gentleness in her voice. She has never been _rude_ , precisely, but she’s brusque and blunt, rationing out her words like they cost her credits to speak. Poe figured that was just how she was - he’s met other people like that - and goodness knows seeing her friends slaughtered by the First Order, being knocked unconscious and dragged onto a First Order ship, and then being brought along willy-nilly to the Resistance, would be enough to render even the most even-tempered person a little brusque. But apparently with droids, she’s far less contained and self-controlled.

Interesting.

Poe clears his throat gently, and Rey jumps a little, skewing around to stare wide-eyed at the doorway. She relaxes just a fraction when she sees who it is, though, which Poe decides to take as a compliment. BB-8 burbles a cheerful greeting.

“Making any headway, then?” Poe asks, keeping his tone deliberately light.

“Some,” Rey says, carefully fitting the panel back onto the droid and rising to her feet, catching her quarterstaff up from where she’s leaned it against the wall. “He’s got too much data and not enough capacity to deal with it, basically. I can think of two or three ways to fix it, though there’s a slight risk of wiping his drives regardless of which I choose. And it looks like he’s working through the data at his own pace, slow as that might be.” She shrugs. “Might be safest just to let him keep working, if you don’t want the risk of wiping him.”

“Good to know,” Poe says, nodding. “I’ll tell the General, let her make the call.”

Rey nods approvingly, and when they get to the mess hall and Poe chooses a seat at the table with his TIE pilots and a slightly bewildered-looking Finn, Rey pauses for a long moment and then sits down at the same table, tucked into a corner where she has the wall at her back. Poe carefully doesn’t comment, and neither does Finn, though Poe _does_ see Finn push a spare sweet-bread roll over within Rey’s reach, and sees Rey snatch it up with a quick, grateful glance at Finn.


	3. Chapter 3

Finn is standing behind General Organa’s shoulder, taking notes on his datapad as fast as he can type and trying desperately to keep abreast of the conversation - General Organa’s strategy meetings tend to be both fast-paced and full of terrifyingly competent people demonstrating their competence, which is amazing to listen to but difficult to keep up with - when a droid over in the corner makes a loud beeping noise that startles everyone around the table. Finn jumps about a foot; the Mon Calamari admiral actually goes for his blaster. General Organa stands up fast, turning towards the sound, and then her whole face lights up and she says, “Artoo!” in the tone of one who has just had a delightful surprise.

The droid beeps again, and rolls forward slowly. It stops in front of General Organa, who pats it gently on its dome, and then it turns towards the table and burbles to itself for a moment before projecting, without any further ceremony, a star map.

The map is missing a single piece.

Slowly, General Organa pulls the data chip out of her pocket and snaps it into the holotable, and the map fragment that Poe acquired from the First Order slots perfectly into place. The route to Luke Skywalker shines in the center of the room.

“Well,” General Organa says after a long moment. “Thank you, Artoo.”

The droid beeps something Finn doesn’t understand - he’s trying to learn Droid, but it’s not easy to fit language lessons in between everything _else_ he has to learn about not being a Stormtrooper, and he’s just barely got basic greetings down - and settles down on its struts with a distinct air of satisfaction. General Organa looks around the table. “Commander Dameron,” she says.

“Ma’am?” Poe asks, straightening up a little from where he’s been peering at the map.

“Leave Wexley in charge of your squadrons,” General Organa says. “I want you in command of the expedition to find my brother. For...a variety of reasons.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Poe says, looking thunderstruck.

“Bring Artoo,” General Organa says, patting the droid again. “Luke will probably appreciate seeing him again. And that young Jakku girl, Rey - she’s got the Force, it shines out of her. She should probably get training as soon as possible.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Poe says again, nodding firmly. And then General Organa turns and smiles at Finn.

“Take Finn, too,” she says.

Finn startles violently. “ _Me_?” he asks her, voice shaking. General Organa nods.

“You’ve got it too, lad,” she says, almost gently. “Like a beacon in the dark.”

*

Poe sends the little transport humming into hyperspace and grins, levering himself out of the pilot’s seat and turning to his passengers. Rey is lounging back against a bulkhead, her staff next to her but not, for a minor wonder, clutched in one hand; Finn is sitting cross-legged in front of BB-8, listening closely as the little droid burbles.

“So,” Poe says, leaning on the back of the pilot’s seat to watch the scene, “we’ve got about three days of travel ahead of us. We’ve got plenty of food and BB has about eight hundred holos if we get bored, so this should be easy enough.”

“I have some data General Organa asked me to study,” Finn says, looking up from BB-8 with a smile. “She said anyone who liked paperwork as much as I do was an asset to the Resistance that she wasn’t going to waste.”

“Better you than me, buddy,” Poe tells him. Rey actually chuckles, a soft sound swiftly cut off, and Poe carefully doesn’t allow any visible reaction, though he’s grinning inside.

“There’s only two bunks,” she says after a moment.

“You can have one,” Finn says instantly. “Poe and I have shared a bunk before; we’ll be fine.”

Rey nods, and Poe musters as good a cheerful smile as he can, while behind the smile he’s trying very hard not to whimper. Yes, he’s shared a bed with Finn before, in a completely platonic and utterly nonsexual manner, and he _can_ do that again - but if Finn the defiant, despairing Stormtrooper was attractive, then Finn the ever-more-confident, perpetually competent, dangerously intelligent _Resistance fighter_ is _exponentially_ more appealing. Poe has been watching, as the days go by, as Finn’s shoulders go back and his gait grows easier, as his head comes up and suggestions come more quickly to his lips - as he flourishes in the freedom the Resistance offers, setting aside his Stormtrooper conditioning with astonishing ease. He’s going to be an officer someday soon, Poe suspects, and when he is, well, Poe is pretty sure he’ll be the sort of officer that people will follow into hell without a single hesitation.

Poe would, at any rate. But admittedly he’s a little biased.

“Sure,” he says aloud. “We’ll probably end up hot-bunking it anyhow - one of us should be awake in case of disaster. Not that anything’s _likely_ to happen, but still.”

Rey nods. “That makes sense,” she says.

Finn shrugs. “It does,” he agrees, “but I’m not sure what I could do, except wake you two up. I don’t know how to fly this thing.”

“Well, come over here and I’ll give you a few quick pointers,” Poe says, and Finn rolls to his feet with an easy motion that makes Poe blink in appreciative surprise and crosses the tiny room to lean over Poe’s chair. Poe does not shiver at the proximity, because he is a grown man and has something like self-control. “Here’s the really important stuff,” he says, pointing to the board in front of him, and makes himself concentrate on teaching Finn the barest rudiments of flying. At least this is something Poe _can_ teach while distracted. Small mercies.

*

Finn pays close attention as Poe points out the important dials and switches and toggles; it’s rather less complicated than Finn expected, actually, and after a little while it even starts to make a sort of sense, though he’s pretty sure he’ll need several more lessons before he so much as dares _sit_ in the pilot’s seat, much less take the controls. Still, any skill is a good skill, and Finn has always liked learning. Learning from _Poe_ , who smiles at him when he asks questions and grins in delight every time Finn gets something right, instead of from grim-faced instructors who demand perfection and are never satisfied, is a new and glorious pleasure, and Finn revels in it.

And also it means he can spend more time with Poe, which is a pleasure Finn has grown to appreciate ever more, these last few weeks with the Resistance. Poe is so unrelentingly _kind_ \- calm and patient with the silliest questions, willing to help out at any time with any problem - and also so very nice to spend time with, even if all they’re doing is working on their datapads, sitting across from each other on their bunks and not speaking at all. Finn sometimes glances up from his datapad to see Poe’s head bent over his work and has to suppress the inexplicable, remarkably strong urge to lean across the space between them and run his fingers through Poe’s hair. It looks so soft.

Rey comes over, skittish and wary, and leans lightly on the back of Finn’s chair. “I - I’d like to try,” she says, unwontedly hesitant. “There was a shuttle like this on the simulator I used.”

“Sure,” Finn says, and slides out of his seat so she can take it. Rey sits down and puts her hands lightly on the control board, not touching any of the switches, just looking intently at everything. And then she smiles, and all the tension slides out of her shoulders, and her hands go skipping over the board, not depressing any of the switches but just tapping them, lightly, in recognition.

Poe watches intently, murmuring, “Takeoff sequence, very nice, maneuvers - whoa, was that a backflip? Impressive! - docking with a larger ship, yes, very clean, landing pattern, nicely executed.” Rey looks up, smiling, and Poe gives her a little seated bow. “You can _definitely_ fly a shuttle, Rey.”

“Yes,” Rey agrees, still smiling. “Guess the simulator got it right.”

“Did it have X-Wing options?” Poe asks. Rey shakes her head.

“Y-Wings,” she says. “It was too old to have X-Wings.”

“Then when we get back, if you like, I’ll have whichever pilot you prefer give you a quick crash course on X-Wings, because we can use all the gifted pilots we can find,” Poe says cheerfully. “Now that we know you can fly this thing, want to give Finn another go?”

“Sure,” Rey says, and stands. Finn slides back into his seat, aware that both Poe and Rey are watching him closely, and takes a deep breath.

“Alright,” he says. “Show me that landing pattern again.”

*

Poe ends the flying lesson when he starts to get hungry, figuring that if _he’s_ peckish, the other two are probably worse off, since Rey’s chronically undernourished and Finn burns a lot of energy keeping himself in shape. (Poe certainly hasn’t reworked his schedule so he ends up in the little gym deep in the D’Qar base at about the same time as Finn. Certainly not.) There’s a very small kitchenette in this shuttle, but it’s big enough for Poe to put together sandwiches, which his companions devour with gratifying haste. Rey licks jam off of her fingers and retreats into a corner with BB-8 and R2-D2, and Finn settles into the co-pilot’s seat with his datapad in hand. Poe takes the pilot’s seat and leans back - there’s little enough for him to do while they’re in hyperspace - lacing his hands behind his head and enjoying not having anything urgent to do, for once.

“What’s the General got you doing, buddy?” he asks after a few minutes.

“Quartermaster stuff,” Finn says. “Looking at our resources, seeing if it’s all being allocated sensibly. The Resistance really doesn’t have a lot of money, does it?”

“No,” Poe says ruefully. “We really don’t. And we’re constantly running low on fuel and bacta and that sort of thing. The Republic doesn’t really _believe_ that the First Order is a threat, you see.”

“They don’t?” Finn asks, clearly baffled. “Why not?”

“I suspect it’s because they don’t _want_ to,” Poe says wearily. “If the First Order is a threat, then they have to go back to war, and...well...the Empire only _fell_ about thirty years ago. Most of the Senators _lived_ through that. They don’t want to fight anymore, and so they don’t want to believe they _have_ to.”

“Oh,” Finn says thoughtfully.

“They think if they just...ignore the First Order, eventually they’ll go away,” Poe says. “Or collapse under the weight of their own idiocy, or something.”

“But the First Order is planning to _destroy_ the Republic,” Finn says. “Doesn’t the Republic have _any_ spies?”

“None they listen to,” Poe says. “They don’t want to hear it, so...they don’t.”

“That’s _idiotic_ ,” Finn says.

“Yes, I know,” Poe sighs. “The General tried to tell them, and they kicked her out of the Senate. Half the military officers tried to tell them, and...well...there’s a reason I left the Republic military, let’s just put it that way. It’s sort of a mess.”

“But it’s...better, right?” Finn asks in a tiny voice, and Poe sits up properly to look at him. “Even when it’s a mess, it’s still better than the First Order?”

“Oh, buddy,” Poe says, heart hurting. “Yes. It’s still better. Because no one is stealing children and making them into soldiers, or plotting to conquer the entire galaxy and rule it through fear. The thing about the Republic is that people are allowed to make their own choices and live their own lives without being brainwashed into submission.”

Finn frowns, thinking that through. “Yeah,” he says at last. “That _is_ better. Even if the Senate is all made of idiots.”

Poe grins. “That’s the spirit,” he says. “And hey - maybe once we’ve found Skywalker, they’ll have to pay attention.”

*

Finn wakes up when his internal chronometer says it’s almost time for the alarms to go off. In the Resistance, he has learned, reveille does not sound each morning to roust them all from their beds, but Finn still wakes just before 0500 nonetheless. It gives him time to hit the refresher before Poe drags himself from his own bed, with much grumbling, and goes looking for caf.

Of course, on this shuttle they’re sharing the bed - hot-bunking, Poe called it - and so Finn is alone in the tiny room. The refresher is down the hall, and Rey’s door is still closed, so Finn takes a very brief shower and cleans his teeth and pulls on a new set of clothing - it’s still odd to be wearing anything that isn’t Stormtrooper blacks - and goes out to see what Poe is doing, and whether there is breakfast.

Poe is singing to BB-8. Finn pauses in the hallway, watching in utter bafflement as Poe scrubs the little droid down with a soft towel and _croons_ , quiet words set to a tune Finn has never heard before. And BB-8 is...singing along, beeping quietly in a sort of harmonious counterpoint to Poe’s tune.

Finn puts a hand to his chest as his heart suddenly seems to _ache_. What in the galaxy - ? He doesn’t think he’s strained anything, but it’s undeniable: his chest aches, and that odd feeling is back, the feeling that he wants to cross the scant space between them and run his fingers through Poe’s hair. More than that, though - he wants to brush the smudge of oil from Poe’s cheek, wants to - wants to _touch_. Wants to see if Poe’s skin is as warm against his palm as Finn remembers it being, if his wrist would still fit so nicely in Finn’s hand as they clasp arms. Wants to know what would happen if Finn leaned in close, so close they were sharing the breath caught between them.

Finn doesn’t have feelings like this around anyone _else_. Rey is a delight, and he likes watching her put things together, and he thinks maybe they could be friends once she stops expecting a threat from any direction at all times; Snap is friendly and answers questions almost as well as Poe does; Flips seems to think Finn knows more about the Resistance than she does, and comes to him when the TIE pilots have run into some communication problem or other; the General is intimidating and oddly kind and very impressive. But Finn doesn’t want to lean towards any of them, doesn’t want to _touch_ in the same way he wants to touch Poe.

He’s still standing there, rubbing his chest and wondering what in the galaxy is going on, when Poe looks up and grins. “Hey, buddy, g’morning,” he says cheerfully. “Let me just finish up here and I’ll see if there’s enough room on that stovetop to make an omelette.”

“Sure,” Finn says, and sits down next to Poe, picking up another scrap of toweling. “Let me help?”

“Sure,” Poe says, bumping his shoulder against Finn’s, and BB-8 burbles something happy, and Finn concentrates on scrubbing all the traces of dirt and dust from the little droid’s surface, because that’s a nice simple thing to think about. Much simpler than wondering _why_ he wants so badly to touch Poe Dameron.

*

Poe puts together an omelette mostly on autopilot - he’s been up all night, and is looking forward to crashing just as soon as Rey emerges from her bunkroom - and only realizes he’s singing again when Finn says, “What - what song is that?”

Poe blinks, and replays the last few minutes in his mind. “Not actually sure what it’s called,” he says. “It’s Alderaanian - I heard the General sing it once, and liked it.”

“There’s different music from different planets?” Finn asks, sounding intrigued.

“Yep,” Poe confirms, dividing the omelette rather messily into three pieces and sliding it out onto plates. “Rey, breakfast!”

There’s a thump from Rey’s bunkroom and then her voice calls, “Out in a moment!” Finn takes two of the plates from Poe and sets them out on the little table. Poe collects silverware and the last plate, and settles in for breakfast-dinner-whatever-it-is contentedly. Finn eats without talking - legacy of his Stormtrooper training - and when Rey emerges, she curls over her food and devours it as though she’s afraid it will escape if she looks away. Poe considers them both and goes to rummage in the tiny pantry for a handful of sweet-apples.

“So yes,” Poe says as he settles back into his chair, keeping one sweet-apple for himself and handing the other four over. “There’s lots of different kinds of music. And most of them are _nothing_ like that dreck they play in the First Order.”

“They used to have evening music sessions at the colony,” Rey says, surprising Poe. “Everyone would gather around the fire, and anyone who _could_ play something would, and the rest of us would sing. I liked that.”

“Do you play anything?” Poe asks her.

“No,” she says. “Lor -” she breaks off, takes a deep breath. “Lor always said I was tone-deaf. But I liked listening.”

“There’s a couple amateur groups back on base,” Poe says. “We do little concerts, now and again. Keeps morale up.” He pauses as a thought strikes him. “I think Bastian’s group might need a new drummer, actually.”

“Drummer?” Rey says, and frowns thoughtfully. “That...I might like that.” She nods to Poe and retreats into a corner with R2-D2, clearly mulling this new idea over carefully.

“Could you sing something else?” Finn asks hopefully.

“One more song and then I’m going to go fall over,” Poe says, and thinks a moment, trying to pick something Finn might like. “Alright, this is from Yavin,” he says. “My grandfather used to sing it.”

It’s a slow, quiet song, about the wind in the trees and the moonlight on the lake, and Poe leans back in his chair and closes his eyes and remembers sitting under the tree in the backyard of his parents’ house, the shadows dappled blue, and listening to his grandfather sing sweet and low as he whittled. It’s a good memory, and the song flows easily from Poe’s mouth, every note as sweet as honey.

“That was lovely,” Finn says when Poe finishes, and Poe opens his eyes to see an expression on Finn’s face that he’s never seen before. It’s warm, and open, and - _wanting_.

Poe swallows hard. That expression, on Finn’s beautiful face - that’s more temptation than anyone should have to face when they’re as tired as Poe is right now. “Right,” he says hoarsely. “Off to bed with me. Roust me out if something goes wrong.”

“We will,” Finn says, and Poe goes stumbling down the tiny hallway and flops down onto the bed in the bunkroom he and Finn are sharing, kicking the door firmly shut, and stares up at the ceiling in dismay. Finn looking at him like _that_ \- it was all Poe could do not to lean across the table and kiss him then and there. And Poe’s not going to do that. It would be a dreadful breach of ethics.

Poe falls asleep still trying to convince himself he doesn’t want to kiss Finn. It isn’t going well.


	4. Chapter 4

Finn leans against the back of the pilot’s seat as Poe and Rey take the shuttle down through the atmosphere of the tiny ocean planet where Luke Skywalker is apparently hiding out. Ahch-To, it’s called, which sounds like a sneeze. It’s out far enough in the Outer Rim that it’s practically out of the _galaxy_ , and from the look of it there’s nothing here but a scattering of emerald-green islands and a whole lot of water. Probably even the First Order wouldn’t bother with it.

“I’ve never seen so much water,” Rey says softly.

“It’s not potable,” Poe says. “All salty. Got to desalinate it before you can drink it.”

“Huh,” Rey says, frowning. “That’s...unpleasant.”

“‘Water, water everywhere, and not a drop to drink,’” Poe says wryly, and grins when Rey and Finn both look at him curiously. “It’s from an old poem; I’ll hunt it down for you one of these days. But yeah, most oceans aren’t potable. Fun to swim in if they’re warm enough, though. Can either of you swim?”

“No,” Finn says. “They don’t bother to teach us. Armor’s too heavy; we’d sink anyhow.”

“No,” Rey agrees. “Where would I have learned, on Jakku?”

“Well, if it’s warm enough and we’re here a while, I’ll give you a few lessons,” Poe says. Finn smiles down at the top of Poe’s head, the messy dark hair. It looks so _soft_. The urge to run his fingers through it is nearly constant these days, though Finn has better self-control than to actually _do_ it. “Rey, which of these little rocks are we aiming for?”

Rey squints at the map on a side screen, then at the ocean spread out before them. “Fourth on the left,” she says at last. “With the really tall mountain.”

Finn watches the island grow larger as they approach, marveling quietly at the black stone and green grass and the water foaming white at the foot of the cliffs. It’s starkly beautiful, in a way not many things he’s seen in his life have been. He wouldn’t want to _live_ here, but...it’s good to see it.

They put the shuttle down at the foot of a long stone staircase, and Finn steps out into the brisk wind - raindrops spattering against the shuttle’s sides - and shivers. Poe steps out behind him and hisses through his teeth, then ducks back into the shuttle and re-emerges shrugging into a jacket and holding a second one out for Finn - thick brown leather with red flashes on the shoulders. It’s Poe’s favorite jacket, actually.

Finn takes it and shrugs it on, feeling very confused. Why would Poe give Finn his _favorite_ jacket, instead of the perfectly nice but less favored one Poe is currently wearing?

Rey has a poncho, a thick oiled wool thing with a hood that Finn rather envies, and she grimaces up at the long flight of steps as though they’ve personally offended her and takes a firmer grip on her staff. “Alright then,” she says. “Let’s go.”

“Lead on,” Poe says, and Finn falls in behind Poe, grimacing a little at the burn as the stairs start to take their toll. Stair-running was always his least favorite part of training. Rey is five or six stairs ahead of Poe, forging onward stubbornly, but Poe is finding the stairs rather harder going than Finn is, from the way his breath is coming harsh through his teeth.

“We can pause a moment,” Finn offers when they’re about halfway up.

“Sure,” Poe says, and leans back against the cliff, looking out over the water. The wind ruffles his hair, and Finn tucks his hands into his pockets so he won’t reach out and try to tidy it. “Ugh, I hate climbing. If we’d brought Black One I could’ve flown up, you know.”

“Fitting Black One into that shuttle would’ve been...fun,” Finn says wryly. Rey has stopped a little ways ahead of them and is looking down impatiently.

“Try ‘impossible,’” Poe says cheerfully. He grins. “Alright, I’m good, c’mon. Faster we make it to the top the better, right? I think that’s a raincloud blowing in.”

Finn nods, and they start moving again.

*

Poe stops at the top of the stairs to lean against a convenient rock outcropping and catch his breath. Rey is up on _top_ of a rock outcropping, peering around at the ocean and the rocky coast, and Finn stops next to Poe, looking at him in concern. “You alright?”

“Fine, buddy,” Poe assures him. “Just don’t like climbing much. You?”

“Not as bad as it could have been,” Finn says, shrugging. “We’d have had to run it, back in training.”

“Ugh,” Poe says feelingly. Finn moves a little further onto the tiny grassy plain, and Poe takes a guilty minute to admire the way Finn looks in Poe’s favorite jacket. It clings to his shoulders and contrasts beautifully with Finn’s dark skin, and it makes him look like - like he’s _Poe’s_. Poe’s lover, Poe’s boyfriend, whatever you want to call it. Poe’s always had a bit of a thing for his lovers wearing his clothes, and this is…

Well, he’ll feel properly guilty for it later. Just now, they have a Jedi to find.

“Over there,” Rey says, and Poe and Finn turn to follow her pointing finger. There’s a figure in a long grey hooded cloak standing at the far edge of the grassy plain, watching them. Poe takes a deep breath and straightens. Finn and Rey fall in behind him as he steps forward.

Poe stops a few feet away from the hooded figure, rather startled to discover that the famous, legendary Luke Skywalker is only about as tall as he is. There’s a long silence - Skywalker doesn’t even put his hood back, and his face is almost entirely concealed in shadows and a rather impressive beard. General Leia didn’t really tell them _what_ to say to her brother when they found him.

Finally, Poe shrugs a little to himself and falls back on tradition. “Help us, Luke Skywalker,” he says solemnly. “You’re our only hope.”

Skywalker puts his hood back, slowly, his metal hand catching the light. “Going for the old standby, are we?” he asks mildly, with a crooked, wry smile.

“Suppose so, sir,” Poe says. “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it, right?”

“Sensible,” Skywalker agrees. “So. I know _you_ , Poe Dameron, though you were a bit shorter when last I saw you. Who are your companions?”

“This is Rey, from Jakku,” Poe says. “And this is Finn, who used to be a Stormtrooper.”

“Interesting,” Skywalker says. “Well. Come along, my padawans have dinner waiting.”

Poe glances at Finn, who looks just as confused as he does. “I...didn’t realize you still had padawans, sir?” he ventures after a moment. Wasn’t that the whole _point_ of Skywalker retreating to Ahch-To, that he was fleeing the memories of the destruction of his school?

“Good,” Skywalker says. “That means it worked.” He leads the way around a large outcropping of stone and down into a village of piled-stone huts, and Poe follows him as the sun sinks into the ocean and the twilight deepens around them. In the flat courtyard between the huts, three people are seated around a small fire, bickering cheerfully: a tall young Wookiee with a _nasty_ scar all down his chest, a Twi’lek girl with two artificial hands, and a human girl with one leg, a crutch leaning against the wall beside her. “My padawans,” Skywalker says, sounding proud and sad at the same time. “Hrawr, Rhilka, and Eri.”

The Wookiee - Hrawr, Poe would guess - waves at them cheerfully. Both young women grin, and the Twi’lek shuffles a bit closer to the human girl to leave room beside the fire. Poe settles down in the offered space, Finn beside him and Rey on Finn’s other side, where she can get up easily if she needs to. Poe gives the padawans his best grin. “I’m Poe, and these are Finn and Rey,” he says.

“Pleased to meet you,” the Twi’lek girl says. “I’m Rhilka; this is Eri. She doesn’t talk.”

Eri shrugs and raises her head a little, and Poe can see a long, terrible scar down her throat, its end vanishing under the collar of her tunic. “Good to know,” Poe says after a moment. “I...take it you’re the survivors of...what happened.”

“Yes,” Rhilka says.

“They were my youngest students,” Skywalker says, settling into the last empty space around the fire. “I had nearly two dozen at the time - the Force is not, actually, terribly rare.” He sighs, staring into the fire. “Thirteen died. Six we never found - as best I can guess, they followed Ben. And these three...Ben tried to slay them, but he was in haste and they were young and no threat to him.”

“He had a damned good try,” Rhilka points out. “ _Would_ have slain us, if you hadn’t found us when you did.” She gestures, the metal of her hand gleaming in the firelight.

“So I took them and I fled,” Skywalker says, sighing. “I let it be known that all of my padawans had died, and I brought these three away to somewhere that not even Kylo Ren would think to look for us.”

“To be fair, this _is_ pretty much the end of the galaxy,” Poe admits. “We never would have found you without the map.”

“And now here you are,” Skywalker says, as Eri begins to pass out plates of stewed fish. “Tell me, what is it you hope I will do?”

*

Finn doesn’t quite know what to make of Skywalker. He was expecting...well, he’s not sure what he was expecting. The First Order told the Stormtroopers that Skywalker was a monster equal in terror and might to his dreadful sister, and Finn has spent a week following General Organa around, and knows that she’s a great General and a good woman but not a monster at all. But still. _Skywalker_. The man who killed the Emperor _and_ Darth Vader. The pilot who took out the Death Star. Finn was expecting...he’s not sure. Someone who walks on clouds and spits lightning, maybe. A hero with a lightsaber at his belt and the gleam of victory in his eyes. This old man eating fish stew with three maimed padawans, his beard thickly streaked with grey, is nothing like Finn could have imagined.

And yet. There’s something about him - a feeling like a breath of cold wind down Finn’s spine, or a shiver of electricity against his kin. A feeling that says that Skywalker could take off this quiet harmlessness as easily as dropping his cloak, and be again the deadly warrior of legend.

Poe puts down his plate of stew and says, quietly, “The General hopes that you will train my companions, who are Force-sensitive. And she hopes you will come back to the Resistance, and aid us against Kylo Ren and his Knights.”

“I’m going back with you,” Rhilka says at once. Eri makes a swift, elegant series of gestures. Hrawr wails something. “So are they,” Rhilka adds. “We’ve a bone to pick with Kylo Ren.”

“We will all go,” Skywalker agrees. “You are well trained, my padawans, and this _is_ our fight. But first we must give our guests a little training of their own - all three of them.”

Poe’s jaw drops. Finn glances from Skywalker to Poe and back again. “I’m not -” Poe croaks. “I can’t be -”

“You are and you can,” Skywalker says firmly.

“But -” Poe says. Finn leans against his friend, trying to give comfort and support through the press of their shoulders. “I - your school -”

“I did not want to make the same mistakes the Jedi did,” Skywalker says calmly. “So I did not take students until they were at least eight or nine years old - and never without the permission of their families. But when you were eight…” he sighs.

“My mother died,” Poe says softly.

“And your father did not wish to lose you so soon as well,” Skywalker agrees. “So you remained at home.”

“Oh,” Poe says quietly.

“So I have three young Force-sensitives to train,” Skywalker concludes, and looks up from his stew to meet Finn’s eyes.

It’s a little like being bashed over the head with a club, but painlessly. Finn reels where he sits. Behind those mild eyes is a vastness as big as the galaxy - as big as the _universe_ \- full of light and dark and chaos and _balance_ , the song of the stars and the planets and the tiny growing things within the earth echoing through Finn’s _bones_. Poe reaches out to catch Finn, and distantly Finn hears him say, “What did you _do_? What’s wrong with him?”

“It’s fine,” Finn says, the words seeming to come from very far away, or maybe _he_ is very far away, soaring between the stars on the great endless song that can be nothing but the Force. “It’s...so big.”

“ _What’s_ so big?” Poe asks, sounding frantic, and Finn turns to look at him, seeing him in an odd double vision - because there is Poe just as he has always been, messy hair and five-o’clock shadow and dark eyes wild with worry; and then there is another Poe, overlaid or underlaid or mirroring - Finn doesn’t quite have words for what he’s seeing - but the other Poe _shines_ , like a beacon, like a fire, like a star blazing, shines with the Force and his own great glorious soul.

“Everthing’s so big,” Finn says, not paying much attention to the words spilling from his lips, not when Poe is a star, is a _supernova_ \- he looks to the side, a quick glance, and yes, Rey is like a great pillar of fire, glorious and beautiful and deadly, and beside her Skywalker is the depth of the night sky spangled with stars, and the padawans are glowing creatures of endless glory, but _Poe_ -

“You’re so beautiful,” Finn hears himself say, and lifts one hand to touch Poe’s cheek, wondering if it will burn his fingers and sure it will be worth it.

“...Are you drunk?” Poe asks. “Drugged? What was in that stew?”

Finn puts his fingers gently over Poe’s lips, and Poe falls silent, staring, warm under Finn’s fingers and blazing in Finn’s sight like a beacon marking the way home.

*

“He’s seeing the Force,” Skywalker says quietly. Poe glances over, not moving his head, at the old Jedi. Finn’s fingers are very warm on Poe’s lips, and Poe is having a little trouble not kissing them, and rather more trouble not _freaking out_ , because - because Finn doesn’t just _say_ things like ‘You’re so beautiful,’ and he certainly doesn’t touch people - or not like this. He’s acting like he’s just taken a hit of some _incredibly_ powerful hallucinogen.

“It takes some people like that, the first time,” Skywalker continues, sounding unconcerned. “Especially if they’re a little older. Children, I think, have a stronger connection to the Force, and are used to seeing strange things. He’ll get used to it in a little while.”

Poe wants to ask about a million questions, but Finn’s fingers are still resting lightly against his lips, and Finn is still staring at him like Poe is - is everything he’s ever wanted, and it’s frankly a little overwhelming.

“Am I going to - to start staring at Poe like that?” Rey asks dubiously from somewhere behind Poe.

“Probably not,” Skywalker says. “However, it will do you and Poe both good to begin to learn to meditate - and Finn, once he stops being amazed at the vast beauty of the Force, which may take a few minutes - and we normally meditate at this time of night anyhow, so get yourselves comfortable.”

Poe shifts carefully until he’s sitting cross-legged, facing Finn. Finn’s fingers slide from his lips to cradle his cheek, and Finn makes a soft, happy sound at the feeling of Poe’s stubble, rubbing the pads of his fingers over it in tiny, extremely distracting motions.

“Close your eyes,” Skywalker says quietly. Poe...can’t quite bear to. The expression on Finn’s face, of exaltation and delight, is too beautiful to _not_ look at. Skywalker chuckles a little. “Breathe in,” he says. “Slowly, for a count of seven.”

Poe does, and Finn mirrors him. “Hold that breath for a count of three, then out for five,” Skywalker continues calmly, and Poe follows directions, watching Finn breathe in perfect concert with him, watching Finn’s eyes glow in the firelight as he stares at whatever wonders he is seeing.

And as Poe breathes, slow and easy, Finn’s eyes seem to grow larger and larger, until Poe can’t see anything else - until all the universe is Finn’s dark eyes and the fire glinting in them like faraway stars -

Until the universe opens up before him, all the stars and galaxies contained in Finn’s glorious eyes, and Poe loses track of everything else, Skywalker’s steady voice and the crackle of the fire and the mild discomfort of the cold stone beneath him, everything but Finn and the Force.


	5. Chapter 5

Finn comes back to his own body in the cold light of dawn. He’s sitting beside the embers of a banked fire, on the tiny island where Skywalker went to ground, with one hand cupping Poe’s cheek, and he and Poe are staring into each other’s eyes. He’s rather sore, and a little cold, but someone has draped a cloak over his shoulders and a second one over Poe’s, and there’s a little lean-to rigged over them so the morning drizzle hasn’t soaked them to the skin.

Finn blinks, and that seems to bring Poe back to himself. He shakes his head a little, and Finn lets his hand drop, muscles complaining about having held that position for what must have been the entire night. “Finn,” Poe says hoarsely.

“Poe,” Finn says. Poe isn’t a great blazing beacon of the Force, this morning - or - Finn blinks, and realizes he can summon that vision back, can see again the glory he did last night, but he can also _not_ see it, can pay attention only to the physical world, which is...probably a good thing. “What happened?”

“You apparently figured out how to see the Force and then got...overwhelmed,” Poe says. “Skywalker said it’s pretty normal. And then we were trying to meditate and…” He trails off and shrugs helplessly. “I guess I did the same thing.” He blushes, his cheeks and the tips of his ears going bright pink. “I could see the whole universe in your eyes. It was...glorious.”

“You were like a beacon, bright as the sun,” Finn says. “I couldn’t look away.”

“Huh,” Poe says thoughtfully. “Well. Shall we see if we can stand up? I’m too old to spend all night out in the open like this.”

“How old _are_ you?” Finn asks curiously as they both begin to stretch out their stiff legs. He’s quite bad at judging ages, because it’s not something that came up very often in the First Order.

“Thirty-two next month,” Poe says, rolling his head back and forth to work the kinks out of his neck. “And since you were an FN series, you must be...hm...twenty-three?”

“That sounds right,” Finn agrees. It’s not like the Stormtroopers had _birthdays_ \- something he’s only just begun to figure out, but Jess was making quite a fuss about her upcoming party when they left. Something about expecting quite a lot of Corellian brandy. Finn isn’t entirely sure what that was about.

“Whippersnapper,” Poe says cheerfully, and gets to his feet with a groan, then offers Finn a hand up. Finn takes it, and startles as a shock runs through both of them. It’s not _unpleasant_ , but -

“What the kriff?” Poe asks, staring down at their joined hands.

“I have no idea,” Finn admits, and scrambles to his feet. It feels almost as though there’s a current running between them, something shivery and electric, painlessly shocking. Finn doesn’t want to let go, and from the way he clings to Finn’s hand, Poe doesn’t either.

Finn’s honestly not sure how long they would have kept standing there, hands tightly clasped, without interruption, but after only a scant few moments, Rey emerges from one of the stone huts and says, “Oh good! You’re awake again. I was afraid I was going to have to get BB-8 to shock you out of it.”

Poe lets go of Finn’s hand and laughs. “That would probably have been very effective and remarkably unpleasant, so I’m glad it didn’t come to that,” he admits.

“Did you not - um - get overwhelmed?” Finn asks Rey curiously. She _does_ shine in his other vision, when he tests it, blazing like a star.

“No - Skywalker said it doesn’t always happen,” she replies. “But I _did_ feel it. The Force. Light and dark and life and death and the great balance…” She trails off, gesturing mutely as though she can’t find the right words. Finn sympathizes.

“It’s so _big_ ,” he says. “So - I never knew the universe was so vast. And it’s all _connected_.”

“Exactly!” Rey says, beaming. It’s the broadest smile Finn has ever seen from her. “The stars and the void and the wind and the stone -”

“The egg and the bone,” Poe agrees, sounding almost dreamy. “The song and the silence and the ice and the flame -”

“Us,” Finn finishes. “Every living thing, and all that’s ever died, and everything yet to be born.”

“Precisely,” Skywalker says from the entrance to one of the other huts, making all three of them startle. “You have grasped the essence of the most important lesson I can teach.”

“But there _is_ more, right?” Rey asks anxiously. “Other lessons?”

“Many,” Skywalker says. “More than we will have time for, I suspect. But we will get to as many as we can in whatever time we _do_ have before we must join my sister. First, breakfast; and then my padawans will begin to teach you some of the basics of meditation and simple lightsaber forms. I think perhaps it would be best if you two, especially, did not attempt to meditate _together_ until you have begun to learn control,” he adds, grinning through his beard at Finn and Poe.

“My sore knees agree with you,” Poe says ruefully, but he gives Finn a look that Finn rather thinks means that Poe, too, would like to repeat that glorious moment of connection between them.

*

Poe knows a little - a _very_ little - Aurebesh Sign Language, because it’s remarkably useful in a hangar full of X-Wings warming up, where you can’t hear yourself think. Finn doesn’t know _any_ , though, and Rey is the only one of the three of them who has a decent command of Shyriiwook, so Rey goes off with Hrawr, and Finn with Rhilka, and Poe follows Eri out to the end of a long low promontory, just tall enough that the crashing waves at its foot only spatter them occasionally with a few salty, ice-cold droplets. The wind hisses and whistles around Poe’s ears as Eri sits down on a convenient rock, settling her crutch carefully beside her. Poe grins ruefully - he’s going to spend a _lot_ more time sitting cross-legged than he’s used to, isn’t he - and folds gracelessly down to sit on the cool stone beside her.

“Relax,” Eri signs, and then, “Breathe.”

Poe nods and settles himself a little more comfortably, and takes a deep breath, the way Skywalker tried to teach them last night: in for seven, hold for three, out for five. Repeat. The wind seems to carry the last of the tension away, the crash of the waves fills his mind and turns slowly to the breathing of the whole planet, the rhythm of life and death and rebirth, and Poe closes his eyes and sees the universe unfold in front of him. Sees it, but does not fall into it, does not forget his own body in the glory of the Force.

After some uncounted time - long enough that his physical body is getting a little stiff with the chill breeze and the hard stone - a voice says, _Come on back, then, Poe Dameron_. Poe opens his eyes, half expecting Skywalker to have joined them, and realizes when he does not see the old Jedi that he heard the voice not with his ears, but with his mind. Eri grins down at him cheerfully.

 _You can hear me now, hey?_ she asks.

“That is a _useful_ skill,” Poe says, grinning back delightedly. And then, concentrating very hard, he adds, _Like this?_

 _Yes, but quieter,_ Eri replies, wincing a little. Poe grimaces apology and tries again without “shouting” so much.

_Better?_

_Much,_ Eri confirms. _Right then, up you get. Calisthenics time!_

 _Oh...joy,_ Poe says, but he clambers willingly if stiffly to his feet, and does his best not to feel _too_ humiliated when the one-legged padawan turns out to hop on her crutch quite a bit faster than Poe can run.

*

Finn watches Rhilka curiously as she leads the way up to the summit of one of the island’s lesser peaks. There aren’t any Twi’leks in the First Order - they’re not close enough to standard human - and there are only two in the Resistance, neither of whom he’s spent any time with. Rhilka is tall - several inches taller than Finn, at any rate - and her lekku are patterned green and purple in an intricate design. Finn can’t quite tell if it’s natural or drawn on. She carries a staff as tall as she is - not a quarterstaff like Rey’s, but a walking stick with an iron-shod tip - and her prosthetic hands gleam in the morning light.

“Never seen a Twi’lek before?” Rhilka asks, glancing back at him. “Or is it the hands?”

Finn can feel his cheeks going hot. “I was admiring your - um - your lekku,” he says, mostly truthfully. “I _haven’t_ seen many Twi’leks before - before last week.”

Rhilka makes a surprised noise. “We’re not _that_ rare. Have you been living under a rock?”

“I was a Stormtrooper,” Finn replies. “It’s much the same thing.”

“Oh!” Rhilka says, and the tips of her lekku go a deeper green. “Master Luke is always _telling_ me I need to think before speaking. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Finn says. “It’s not like _most_ people have been trapped in the First Order all their lives.”

“No,” Rhilka agrees, and then hesitates. “Did you - did you ever see any of the Knights of Ren?”

“Yes,” Finn says. “Why?”

Rhilka is silent until they reach the top of the mountain, and then she flops down on the grassy patch just below the summit and sighs heavily. “They were my _friends_ , once,” she says miserably. “My _kin_. And I - I know they went with Ben when he left, but I don’t know if they _wanted_ to. If they really were evil, or if they just...had to go, because otherwise he’d have killed them the way he tried to kill _us_.” She flexes her hands, metal flashing in the sunlight.

“Oh,” Finn says, wincing as he settles to the grass and tries to imagine that: people as close as your family, choosing to go with the man who tried to kill you. “I don’t know if they went with him willingly,” he says at last. “But they’re...they’re not the people you knew anymore, not now. We - the Stormtroopers - we were all _terrified_ of them, because when they’re angry, or frustrated, or even just bored, they -” He grimaces. “Well. They take it out on us. Being assigned to the same ship as a Knight of Ren meant there was a decent chance you’d end up dead before you ever saw battle.”

“Oh,” Rhilka says in a very small voice. “That’s...terrible.”

“I’m sorry,” Finn says uncomfortably. Should he have lied to make her feel better?

“No, it’s - it’s better to know,” she says. “And I guess I really already knew. If they’d wanted to leave, they would have found a way, right? And they didn’t. So.” She takes a deep breath and shakes herself a little. “Meditation. It’ll be good for both of us. Get comfortable, and shut your eyes, and reach out for the Force.”

Finn’s not so sure the Knights of Ren _could_ have left if they wanted to - the First Order holds on to what it takes - but he doesn’t have any evidence either way, so he closes his eyes obediently and looks for that great shining glory he found last night. It’s as easy as breathing, now that he knows what he’s looking for. The universe opens out around him, ever-changing and always beautiful, and Finn lets himself sink into it and forgets, for a little while, all his worries. There is no looming war, no difficult ethical questions, no fretting about what his relationship with Poe might be - there is only the Force, thrumming with the great song of the universe, singing deep in Finn’s heart and mind and soul.

*

By the time Eri leads Poe back to the little village for dinner, Poe is utterly exhausted and weirdly exhilarated in about equal measure. Eri has alternated between making him run about and do calisthenics, and making him sit still and try to lift rocks with his mind, and while Poe hasn’t done spectacularly at _either_ , he’s definitely made headway on the rock-lifting, at least.

 _Not bad for a first day,_ Eri says as they make their way up a grassy hill.

“Thanks,” Poe replies aloud, too tired to concentrate enough to speak mind-to-mind. “You’re a pretty damn good teacher.”

Eri beams. _When the war is over, I want to be a teacher all the time, for all the new younglings,_ she admits.

“I think you’ll be very good at that,” Poe says.

The rest of the padawans and Poe’s companions are already gathered around the fire. Poe sinks down next to Finn, who hands him a plate of stew - Poe suspects he’s going to be rather tired of fish stew by the time they’re done here - and Poe settles in to listen to Rey enthusing about _her_ day’s lessons, which apparently included sparring with Hrawr. The tall young Wookiee looks on indulgently, warbling commentary now and again. Skywalker shakes his head at all of them, chuckling, and Finn leans warm against Poe’s shoulder and radiates calm contentment as soothing as the heat of the fire.

Once the stew is gone and Rey has finished her recounting of her day, Skywalker says, “So. You three are going to be getting an extremely abbreviated version of the Jedi teachings, because frankly I don’t expect I’m going to have ten years to bring you up to speed.”

Poe shakes his head. “We’ll be lucky to have ten _days_ ,” he admits.

“Quite,” Skywalker says. “So. Tonight before you sleep, I would like you all to meditate on the Jedi Code. We are using the _old_ version, incidentally. Padawans?”

Rhilka is the only one who speaks aloud, but all three padawans sign the words as she speaks them: “Emotion, yet peace. Ignorance, yet knowledge. Passion, yet serenity. Chaos, yet harmony. Death, yet the Force.”

Poe blinks. He’s never actually _thought_ about the Jedi Code before. “That...seems like a lot of contradictions,” he says after a moment.

“Yes,” Skywalker agrees. “Which is why you meditate on it. Shoo - you’re all going to be asleep within half an hour, I’d wager.”

Poe yawns as if on cue, so widely his jaw creaks. “Yeah,” he admits sheepishly. “I think you may have a point there.”

“Which hut has our beds?” Finn asks. “Since we...ah...didn’t get there last night.”

“Just to your left there,” Skywalker says, and Finn and Poe lean on each other as they stumble through the doorway and collapse onto the matching cots. Poe manages to keep his eyes open just long enough to recite the Code to himself _once_ , and then he falls headlong into sleep.

*

Finn fell asleep too fast to do any meditating on the Code, but he wakes up before dawn, old habits dying hard, and goes wandering out of the little stone hut to a grassy spot atop a cliff, settling down cross-legged to watch the dawn and think about this new Code he’s expected to learn - and possibly live by, he’s not sure. It’s not much like the rules of the First Order, which were very clear and simple: Do as you’re told and don’t ask questions.

This new order is a bit more complicated, it seems.

Emotion, yet peace. Well, that was pretty much what Finn was feeling when he fell into the Force in Skywalker’s eyes. Joy, and wonder, and awe, and also - also peace, the peace of knowing he was right where he was supposed to be, doing exactly what he was supposed to be doing. So yeah, that makes a weird sort of sense.

Ignorance, yet knowledge. Isn’t that how he’s feeling right now? Like all that information, all that knowledge, is right there, and he only has to reach out for it - but at the same time he knows how much he _doesn’t_ know, and there’s knowledge past the stuff he can dimly see, things he can’t even _imagine_ , things he doesn’t _know_ he doesn’t know. Glorious things, and terrible things, and the whole vast depth and breadth of the Force spread out before him, holding so many secrets that he could not discover them all if he lived to be a thousand years old and spent every moment of those thousand years in learning.

Passion, yet serenity. That’s the first one again, isn’t it? Or - passion is a little different from _emotion_ , Finn supposes. Passion is things like the way Poe clearly feels about the Resistance, that willingness to give up anything and everything for it; the way Skywalker feels for his padawans, and the way the General feels about fighting the First Order. But where does the serenity come in? Finn’s...going to have to think about that one some more. He sets it aside carefully and goes on to the next bit.

Chaos, yet harmony. Oh, this one’s _easy_. It’s what he saw when he fell into the Force: the vast chaos of the universe, everything moving in its own course and intersecting unpredictably and changing how other things move, this immense _mess_ of matter and energy and emotion, and somehow it all comes together into a vast harmony which is the song of the very universe itself, and the Force is the song.

Death, yet the Force.

Hm.

Finn turns that over in his head a few times. Yes, death is part of the great song of the Force, and then the bodies of the dead become the soil which grows new life, but he doesn’t think that’s _quite_ what that bit means.

He’s still puzzling it over when someone sits down beside him. Finn opens his eyes to find Rey offering him a bread-roll. It’s...oddly green.

“Seaweed bread,” she says. “Surprisingly tasty. Kind of salty.”

“Thank you,” Finn says, and takes it. She’s right, it’s pretty good, if salty.

“What were you thinking about?” she asks once they’ve both finished their rolls. Behind them, Finn can hear Poe making ecstatic noises over caf.

“The Code,” Finn says. Rey nods.

“A lot of it doesn’t make sense,” she says. “But I think it _will_ , eventually.”

“Yes,” Finn agrees. That’s it exactly. Someday, it _will_ make sense.

Someday his connection with Poe might make sense, too, but Finn’s not going to hold his breath. For now, it’s enough to know that Poe shines in the Force like a beacon, and smiles at Finn like the rising sun, and Finn would follow him anywhere he cares to lead.

*

They get twelve days on Ahch-To - twelve days of running up and down the grassy slopes, of meditating for hours, of sparring with each other and the padawans (Poe gets his ass kicked by Rey, which is mildly embarrassing, and by Finn, which was pretty much expected - but he’s as good as either of them with a blaster), of trying to make sense out of the tangled logic of the Code - and then on the thirteenth morning Poe goes down to the ship to see if the droids have any messages, and R2-D2 beeps anxiously at him before projecting a little blue image of General Organa looking _very_ tired.

“Well, they’ve found D’Qar,” she says. “We’re evacuating now, and we’re going to head for Crait. Meet us there if you can, Poe - and bring my brother. _Please_.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Poe murmurs, and goes trotting back up the stairs, far more easily than he did thirteen days ago. All those calisthenics have been good for _something_.

“Then I suppose it is time,” Skywalker says calmly when Poe relays the message to him. “Come, padawans. Let us go prove that the Jedi are not yet gone.”

End of part 2

**Author's Note:**

> This will update daily 1/15-1/19.
> 
> I am, as ever, imaginarygolux on tumblr. Drop on by!


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